


Contact High

by AndreaLyn



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“This isn’t a proposal. I would give you a much better proposal,” he insists firmly, not wanting Hernando to think that Lito wouldn’t give him the world.</i>
</p><p>Days after things die down, Lito's overwhelming affection and relief continue to filter through the cluster, spreading happiness and joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact High

The mornings after Lito had promised _I don’t care_ (the echo reverberating in his mind with such bliss, such perfect bliss) are some of the best of his life. They are all of them safe, but more importantly, Lito wakes up with the sun spilling in through the windows and lighting up Hernando’s body like one of the pieces of art he’d spend all his time raving about. Lito makes it his personal mission to spend every second of these mornings tracing his skin with his fingers, then it becomes a mission for his mouth.

It feels strange to have almost lost this, but maybe Lito needs to have been scared to truly appreciate what it is he has. Now, everything is surreal.

Even Hernando’s skin feels too good to be true, as Lito traces it with his fingertips as light as feathers, brushing all the golden-touched perfect planes that make up this man, this wonderful man. It’s been days since Lito’s shaved, so one of the bristles must wake Hernando up, because he rouses from his respite, blinking blearily up at him.

“Say it again,” Lito greets him, as he has every morning since they came back home.

Smiling that sleep-mussed and beautiful thing Hernando always wears in the morning, he clasps Lito tenderly by the cheek and reaches out to hold onto him. “I love you,” Hernando murmurs. “Now where are my glasses?”

Lito pushes across the bed to sprawl atop him, reaching for the glasses so he can slide them onto Hernando’s face tenderly, tapping the bridge of his nose and rubbing it while the effusive and overwhelming affection threatens to drown him, like slow honey trapping a fly.

“So I take it you figured out what you were living for?”

Lito doesn’t take his eyes off of Hernando, though he already knows that he’s here and he’s there, here in Mexico City and there in San Francisco. His attention holds to Hernando here, but in a blink, he’s in San Francisco and Nomi is watching him from where she’s casually sprawled in her chair, mug of coffee in her hands.

She presses her palm flush against her heart and looks at him like a proud sister might, which makes Lito laugh out loud as if his emotions are even more on his cuff than usual.

“Is it that obvious?” he wonders.

“It’s hard to ignore,” Will speaks up. It seems he has an audience. Lito glances to the side and runs his fingers through his hair, ducking his head down. 

“I had very good advice to follow,” Lito promises.

“Not to mention someone to help you with your courage,” says Wolfgang from the corner of the room. “I’m glad things worked out for you, but this?” he says, poking at his heart and then his head, “this happi-fucking-ness onslaught you’re bringing on the rest of us? It’s going to get old soon.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Nomi insists (Wolfgang is already gone, as if he’d only dropped in to complain that Lito’s overwhelming abundance of joy is something to be ignored and disapproved of), reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Are you going to tell him about us?”

“I have to, don’t I?” Lito says. With one glance around the room, he sees that it’s only him and Nomi again, as alone as they can be.

Until they are back in Mexico City and Lito is stroking his hand over Hernando’s face, cherishing him for the treasure he is.

“You’re the only voice I really want in my head,” Lito says, repeating a message he’d left days ago, forgetting whether it’s a line from a script or whether in his grief and misery, he’d said the only thing that really felt true. “You’re the only one I want to share my heart and head with.”

“You say that like I’ve got competition,” Hernando jokes.

Except, Lito doesn’t laugh.

“Lito?” Hernando asks warily.

Now isn’t the time to tell him. Not yet. The cluster will be with him for the rest of his life and if Lito plays his cards right, then so will Hernando. He can already picture it, his career be damned. Daniela has assured him that there are plenty of parts for men like him, which means that Lito can still work if he’s stubborn enough. The rest of the sensates are going to be with him and Lito is going to do his best to make sure Hernando is a part of their web.

He might be one-eighth body, mind, and soul, but he is one half of a heart and the other belongs to Hernando.

“You’re the only one I do share my heart with,” Lito corrects himself, though he can’t bring himself to lie.

Especially not when he can feel Riley and Sun standing over the bed, looking down at him as if two angels. Lito shifts to straddle Hernando, watching how the morning light casts unbelievably beautiful light on Hernando’s face.

“It’s like a song,” says Riley. "I can hear your heart beating out for him, singing for only him.”

“I’ve never felt so warm,” Sun admits, closing her eyes and basking in the sunlight as if that’s what’s warming her up. 

Lito knows that isn’t completely the case. The truth is that he already knows what the others are feeling isn’t just the sunlight pouring in and warming his skin, but the overwhelming warmth of his love for this man and the love he receives in turn. Selfless and selfish, he feels more of the latter at the moment as he leans down to steal whatever kisses Hernando will afford him, as sleepy and stale-breathed as he is.

He’s glad for the fact that he and Hernando aren’t linked the way he is with the others. There’s mystery in this and work, but the good kind that has him earning rewards and surprises; like ceviche in the morning and theses on art in the afternoons. Hernando is a constant joy and surprise to him, and he would never trade that in, not for anything.

“I want that,” says Kala, once Riley and Sun are gone. She sits in the corner of the room, but unlike Daniela, she wears sadness on her face and hunched in her shoulders. Lito can sense her longing and her jealousy, can practically exhale the name ‘Wolfgang’, but Lito’s whole world is so wrapped up in the man below him that the happiness overwhelms him. “That’s the kind of marriage I want.”

 _Marriage_.

It’s something he’s never considered. He never could, what with their lives being such a secret. Only, that isn’t the case now, is it? 

“Hernando,” Lito speaks suddenly, sliding down beside him to pull him close. “Do you want to get married?”

That seems to wake him up, not to mention a few other voices in his head.

“I love weddings,” Capheus says happily. 

“I could DJ,” Riley supplies helpfully.

“And I know a wonderful florist,” adds Kala.

Lito closes his eyes tightly, ignoring the relentless onslaught of help to focus on Hernando and his answer, because it would be the worst thing in the world to suddenly miss the answer to this very important question. “Well?” he prompts, when Hernando has done nothing but open and close his mouth several times.

“I never considered that possible,” he admits, sounding winded by the response. “I never thought you were the type to want to marry.”

“I wasn’t,” Lito admits, but the him that was and the him that is are so separate and it’s not just because of the seven additional souls inhabiting his body. “This isn’t a proposal. I would give you a much better proposal,” he insists firmly, not wanting Hernando to think that Lito wouldn’t give him the world. “I never really thought about it, though.”

“Spending your life with the same person?”

 _Spending it with eight someones, now_ ,” Lito thinks, but doesn’t say. He wonders what ‘t’il death do us part’ means when it comes to someone like him. “Let’s assume we’re in a hypothetical future world, where you are still the sexiest man I know and you’ve decided to stay with me. Would you consider marrying me?”

“All things are possible,” Hernando replies, wearing a bashful and delighted smile that answers Lito’s question plenty for him.

Lito lifts Hernando’s hand in his, kissing each knuckle as tenderly as they deserve and rolls them over once more in the bed so he can continue his daily worship of the most beautiful, most deserving man in the world.

*

Across the world, seven other people feel what they’ve started to feel mere days ago.

That overwhelming warmth and joy that comes of falling deeper in love with someone, of knowing they love you back unconditionally, and of the afterglow that comes of consummating it. All over the world, seven others lie back happily and know that no matter what, Lito will be taken care of.

“I’d better not end up a groomsman,” Wolfgang mutters, trying to ignore the happy bliss that runs through him, but even he’s susceptible to it (and especially so when Kala is there with him, braiding flowers). 

“Don’t act as if you wouldn’t love it,” she teases.

And that’s the trouble with sharing everything, all the time with the people he’s let into his mind and heart. She’s entirely right; he’d enjoy every last second of it and feel as suffused with warmth and love the way he is now.

“Fucking contact high,” he mutters, and tries to go about his daily business, knowing that tomorrow morning will just be a repeat of today until the honeymoon stage wears off. He tries to act like it annoys him, but really, he’s happy that Lito figured out how to fight, just as much as Wolfgang is learning how to lie.


End file.
